


Survivor syndrome

by Hotaru_Tomoe



Series: The English job [46]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Endgame, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 03:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/pseuds/Hotaru_Tomoe
Summary: CAREFUL: this story is set post-Endgame and it's spoiler if you haven't seen the movie.After having come back, Strange can’t forget what he saw, and dark thoughts creep into his mind. Will his husband help him?





	Survivor syndrome

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授翻/奇異玫瑰】倖存者症候群（完）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19343542) by [LovingRoss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovingRoss/pseuds/LovingRoss)



Everett Ross had always put his duty before everything else, and he did it that time too, but it was the hardest ordeal of his life.

Because, when the people who have been killed by the snap of Thanos's fingers came to life again, his first thought was:  _ "Stephen! Stephen is back." _

Five years without hope, without anything, in a city that has become too large and too silent, and then one Thursday morning like another, while he was about to go to the cafeteria, everything changed again, and there were shouts and dazed people everywhere, so many people: the world had returned as before.

One Thursday morning like another, and Stephen was back.

Everett jumped up, to go where he didn't even know, he only knew that Stephen was back, was back, was back to him.

But he couldn't, because his phone literally burst with calls, and there were confused colleagues wandering in the corridors asking questions, and it was his duty to stay there.

It seemed that, for those who had disappeared, those five years had never passed, many hadn’t even realized that they had vanished. Everett was relieved that at least half of the population of Earth (at least Stephen) hadn’t suffered the same pain of those who had survived.

_ "Everything will be fine," _ he thought in those first moments, waiting for Stephen to come back to him.

It was neither fast nor easy (when had it ever been?), more time passed before Everett could hug his husband again; alarming news came from the headquarters of the Avengers, news of an alien army and a colossal battle.

In the following hours Ross didn’t move from his office. He coordinated support and intervention teams for a city that suddenly resurrected, answered every question, updated his superiors, but he felt like he was moving within a dream: it was grotesque to summarize the last five years on the phone to the president of the United States, while not far away the Avengers were still trying to save the universe.

He was there with the body, but his mind was on the battlefield and he could only think,  _ "Don't die Stephen, you can't come back just to do this to me, this time I can’t make it through." _

Surviving in those five years had been terribly difficult, and only that he had been able to do: to survive, not to live. He went on by day after day because there was a shortage of personnel everywhere, and working had kept his mind busy.

 

Once, Sharon Carter had told him that Steve Rogers had organized a self help group and maybe he could go to a session, just to see what it was like.

"Self help for what?" He asked.

"You know, boss: to mourn and maybe to try to move on."

Ross thanked her, saying he would think about it, but obviously he didn't go.

There couldn’t be a going forward, not for him. Not without Stephen.

And, in any case, he would never find a love like that again.

Therefore, although Thanos had destroyed the gems, although there was nothing left to hold onto, a fragment of his heart refused to believe that it was all over, that there was no more hope.

 

And then he had been rewarded.

In the end, someone heard his silent prayer, a portal opened in the middle of his office and Stephen appeared before him.

Time froze, neither of them moved, until Stephen raised a hesitant hand in his direction, as if he didn't know what to do or what reaction to expect from him.

Everett refused to think about it, and ran to meet him, hugging his husband, his wounded, exhausted, but alive husband.

"You're here," Everett muttered against his chest.

"I'm here," Stephen replied, running a hand through his hair.

He had million things to tell him, but not even one reached his lips, and Stephen was silent too, and this was weird, because normally it was impossible to silence him.

Instead Stephen lifted his face, looked into his eyes and then caressed Everett’s forehead with his lips, with immense devotion.

Everett's voice broke as he said his name.

Someone knocked on the door.

They ignored him.

The intruder knocked again and then entered.

"Er... forgive me, boss... you are required to..."

"Not now," Ross snapped: he would not be separated from his husband, having just had him back.

"But the Secretary of Defense..."

"I said not now!" Ross growled with his icy voice that always made his subordinates tremble with fear.

"As you wish" his assistant whispered, retreating.

"You haven't changed," said Strange, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Of course I haven’t: I'm still the bossy and stubborn asshole you married six years ago."

Strange took his face in his hands: "It's really true: in any place, in any reality, you are the only fixed point in a constantly changing world." [1]

Ross didn't quite understand, but he didn't care.

"I missed your pointless compliments."

Everett put a hand behind Stephen’s neck and pulled, because hugs and tenderness were fantastic, but after five years he had forgotten the taste of his lips, and couldn’t wait to savour it again.

A shadow of hesitation passed into Stephen's eyes again, and Everett stopped.

"What's up?"

"Five years have passed..."

"I know it well!" He snorted, "I lived them."

"And if you..." Strange looked away, "if you have known someone meantime, I would understand."

"Idiot!" Everett snapped, making him start, "Is that what you're worried about? How can you think that I..."

"You would have the right."

Everett kissed him almost fiercely, until they were breathless.

"I could never have."

Ross' subordinate knocked on the door again.

"What now?"

"I'm sorry, boss, but at the Pentagon they want to know what happened at the Avengers' headquarters and since Dr. Strange is here..."

"No."

"But..."

"You heard me, I said no, not today. The Pentagon will receive a detailed report in due course, but now my husband and I are going home."

"O-okay..."

"You scared the poor guy to death."

"I don’t care. I’m serious, Stephen: let's go home."

His husband looked worn out , and Everett wanted to move him away from there as soon as possible.

A portal carried them to their bedroom; Everett turned off his phone and prepared a hot bath.

He asked no questions, he waited for Stephen to speak, while they were immersed into the water, his back finally touching his husband's chest and no longer with the cold porcelain of the tub.

Strange said he had seen more than fourteen million possible futures, strewn with death, except one, where there was a small, faint hope.

He said he had made a choice, that he had staked everything on that hope, but that a very high price had been paid, to ensure the survival of the universe.

"Romanoff died to get the soul stone, Vision vanished once the mind stone was removed from his body, and today..." Strange swallowed and closed his eyes, "Tony Stark sacrificed his life to eliminate Thanos and his army."

He would never forget Stark's look when the revelation hit him: he had to die to save everyone.

Everett turned, making the water ripple.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against his neck. He knew that Stephen was suffering: before being a sorcerer, he had been a surgeon, a man who made a mission of saving lives, of course he was suffering.

However, Ross was happy in an almost ferocious way that Stephen had survived.

He was terribly selfish, he was perfectly aware of it, but after those five years, damn it, he thought he had the right to be greedy.

He said nothing, merely holding Stephen: it wasn’t necessary to distress Stephen with his emotions, and every marriage had some secret, the couples who told each other everything existed only in fairy tales.

"It will be fine," Everett whispered much later, just before dawn, exhausted after Stephen had taken him three times, erasing five long years of solitude in a few hours.

"We'll be fine," he repeated like a promise, stroking his hair.

 

A couple of days later, Everett entered the bedroom and saw that Stephen was finishing wearing a black suit.

"We will commemorate the fallen," he explained.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"well..." Strange hesitated and looked away. "I wish you were with me, but..."

Everett stopped him, putting a finger to his lips.

"Government members aren’t welcome. I understand, there is no problem. I'll wait here. In fact, maybe I go back to office for a while."

"You said you took a few days off."

"Yes, well, I intend to present a motion to cancel the Sokovia Accord."

Strange looked at him in surprise.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes: the Avengers fought again to save the entire universe: keeping them harnessed with a piece of paper is stupid and probably counter-productive. Not to mention that they will still do what they want. At that point, what's the use of the Accords?"

"Thanks Everett. In time, your gesture will be appreciated by everyone."

But not now, Ross understood it: the wound was still bleeding and hurting.

_ "It will get better," _ he said to himself,  _ "we just need time to heal." _

 

Strange himself didn't even know if he was welcome at the funeral.

Shortly after Stark's death, the boy, Peter Parker, had accused him, crying, of letting Stark die, he had told everyone that Strange had seen the future and knew what would happen, he knew who would die and allowed it to happen without say a word.

A ripple of silent hostility had shook the audience, until Steve Rogers had passed an arm around the crying boy’s shoulders, saying that Tony wouldn’t want that.

And there were no other ways: that was the only one that allowed the universe to survive. In all the hypothetical futures where he had explained his plan to the other Avengers, where he had warned those who would die, they failed inexorably.

But he said nothing in his defense, because if hating him made Peter or someone else feel better, then he would carry that weight.

Others had paid a higher price, he had no right to complain.

At the funeral he stayed in a corner; he offered his condolences to Stark's widow, but didn’t join the group of heroes that remembered their missing comrades on the shore of the lake. He felt like a stranger, but not because he had known them for a short time: even the Guardians of the galaxy didn’t know the other Avengers very well, yet they were there with the others, to embrace and console.

He felt detached from everything, like the first time that the Ancient One had pushed him out of his body.

It was Banner who approached him, while the garden was slowly emptying. His arm was still bandaged and he didn't know if he would fully recover.

"At first, she didn't want to give me the time stone."

"It’s the duty of the Sorcerer Supreme to protect it at all costs. Not even the Hulk could have snatched it from her."

"Yes, I saw it."

"How did you convince her?"

Bruce shook his head: "I didn't convince her, you did, by giving the stone to Thanos, back then."

He couldn't say anything back then, or the thin thread that held their only chance of victory would break, he could only send a message to the previous Sorcerer and hope she understood.

"As soon as I told her what you did, she gave me the stone," Bruce went on.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it seemed to me that you needed it. You said it yourself: there was no other way."

In other circumstances, such a solemn look on the green giant's face would have been funny, but not now.

"But Romanoff is dead."

"You didn't kill her, Strange, you didn't kill any of them: precisely because you didn't influence them in any way, they made their choices in absolute autonomy. I don't blame you for what happened."

"And the others?"

"Peter is only sixteen, he needs time."

"Time..." Strange muttered, and Banner looked at him questioningly.

"I wonder what she would have done in my place: perhaps she wouldn’t have stopped at fourteen million future, perhaps she would have visited many more, looking for a solution without sacrificial lambs."

"She trusted you and your judgment, and I decided to do the same."

It was clear that Bruce was suffering from the loss of Natasha, but he was serene.

"Why?"

"I know we don't know each other and I don't know anything about you, but while I was in New York, back in 2012, she told me that at that time, while the alien invasion was taking place, you were in the hospital, working."

"Yes, what about it?"

"While the entire city was fleeing in terror, you were in an operating room saving someone, without any superpowers or protection. This is why I trust your judgment."

As he opened a portal to return to the Sanctum, Strange wished he had the same belief of Banner.

 

The thought slowly crept into his head, day after day, initially in a vague form, then assumed the contours of a precise question.

Why didn't he die?

He had seen the future, he should have been responsible for his coming, not three innocent people.

While grabbing Thanos's glove, Stark had looked at him, and realized that it was up to him to make the supreme sacrifice.

That look would have accompanied Strange until the end of his days.

The Ancient One, from the past, had trusted the choice of the next Sorcerer Supreme, the one who is the best of all.

But was it really?

Even the Ancient One had made mistakes.

What if she was wrong about that too?

 

It didn't get better with time, as Ross had hoped.

Apparently everything seemed to be going well: Strange spent his time protecting the Sanctum in New York and training the students at Kamar Taj, he helped the people affected by curses and intervened where the magic caused problems, as he had done before Thanos, but Everett sensed that something was wrong.

It was as if Stephen were wearing a mask to hide what he really felt and that, at the same time, he was slipping into a faraway place, where his words and gestures couldn't reach him.

It didn't take long to him to figure out what it was.

Many people underestimated Ross, because he wasn’t a superhero, but that didn't mean he was a fool. Indeed, since he observed those special people from a privileged point of view, he understood them better, and he knew that, having removed their superhuman abilities, they were human beings like everyone else, with the same pains and the same disorders.

And, because he understood them, he could help them.

 

One day he distracted Stephen from his studies, kissing him on the temple.

"Can I do anything for you?" Stephen asked, closing the book he was reading.

"Actually yes, I was wondering if you could open a portal and come with me to a place."

Strange tilted his head to one side: "Normally you don't want me to use magic on a whim."

"Let's say this is a special circumstance: I need you to take me to the USS Gerald R. Ford."

"The aircraft carrier? Is it for work, then?"

Ross didn't answer, but offered his hand, helping him to stand up; Strange opened the golden circle of light and took them to the main deck of the military ship, behind the lifeboats. The ship's staff was busy and didn't notice them.

"Can you hide us?"

"Yes, of course."

Strange cast a spell and made them invisible.

"What are we doing here, Everett? Are you on a mission and looking for a spy?"

"No, relax. Have you ever seen a fighter landing on an aircraft carrier?"

"No."

"You'll soon see it: there is one who is returning after a patrol mission."

A few seconds later a plane appeared on the horizon, followed, after several seconds, by the unmistakable roar of the engine.

"It is perhaps the most difficult maneuver for a navy pilot," he explained, "The fighter comes at high speed and the runway space is short."

Under the fighter was visible the tailhook, already extended; the plane descended on the runway, hooked the arresting wire and after a few meters it stopped, then an attendant unhooked the cable and the pilot parked his plane.

"I started my career as a navy pilot," Ross said, watching the pilot leaving the plane.

"I know. Why are we here, Everett?"

"Me and another pilot were returning from a patrol mission in the Sea of Japan, north of Hokkaido, because a Russian military cargo plane was flying on the Japanese airspace, so we escorted it out. Even if the cold war was over, there were still a lot of tension between the two countries.

The pilot of the other fighter was Jacob Duncan, he was three years younger than me. A good pilot, he played the guitar when he didn’t fly and he had a beautiful voice, but he only loved that unbearable country music, and we all mocked him because of that.

We decided the landing order, after returning from that mission: first me and then him. It wasn't a fixed order: sometimes I went down first, sometimes not; that time he caught a sudden gust of wind at high altitude, so he was slightly behind me, and I landed first.

My landing was smooth as always, the attendant unhooked the wire and I parked the fighter, waiting for Duncan's descent. His plane hooked the wire... that broke; it hissed in the air like a whip and hit two men, killing them instantly. It happened in a fraction of a second and at first I didn't realize what was happening: I saw these two men on the ground and, out of the corner of my eye, Duncan's plane that didn’t stop as it should have. He tried to brake, but failed to stop in time and fell off the tarmac; at that point the speed of the fighter was too low to regain altitude and fell into the sea. When the rescue team reached him, it was too late."

Another fighter landed without problems on the aircraft carrier, and Ross and Strange looked at him until the pilot left the cockpit, joking with his colleagues.

"The wire was at the end of his life, it should already have been changed for some time," Ross went on, "the army had given the maintenance to an outside firm to reduce expenses, but their staff wasn’t qualified enough to notice the wire was worn out."

Stephen squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry."

"You know why I'm telling you all this, aren't you?"

"Everett..."

Ross tightened the grip on his hand.

"For a long time I have been tormenting myself about that incident: I reviewed my landing a thousand times in my head, wondering if it was like the other times, or if I had sensed something strange during the braking. But above all, I kept asking myself why it had happened to him and not to me, because I had survived and I felt guilty, just as you are doing, my love, even if you think that I don't notice."

Strange let go of his husband's hand and took a few steps away.

"You spent five years in hell, it's not fair to worry you with my thoughts."

Everett joined him again, touching his face and forcing him to look at him.

"I know why you think it's right to keep this inside yourself, because I've been there too, but it's not like that, believe me: if you carry this burden alone, it will end up dragging you into the abyss."

"Do you still think about that incident?"

"Yes, but now I see things in the right perspective, and I left behind the sense of guilt."

"How did you do?"

"I put pride aside and asked for help."

"So you went to a psychologist?"

"Yes."

Stephen shook his head, but Everett insisted, "I know the advice seems silly to you, because you fight the Bokors [2] and you can travel on the astral plane, but Stephen, here," he laid a hand on his chest at the height of heart, "you are deeply human, like me, like all of us."

Stephen put his hand on Everett's. It trembled.

"You are hurt: allow yourself to heal," Everett whispered.

"Do you know anybody?"

"The psychologist who helped me. Don't be fooled by the fact that he's almost ninety years old, he's one of the smartest people I know."

"I've been dealing with much older people, Everett."

"Quite right. If we go home, I call him."

Strange reopened the portal and they returned to the Sanctum.

"Stephen," Everett said, before picking up the phone, "I know it seems impossible now, but I promise you it will get better, and I'll be by your side every moment."

Like in every universe he had visited, Everett was his constant, his strength, his support. Stephen pulled him to him and kissed him.

"I believe you, my love."

**Author's Note:**

> The survivor's syndrome is a particular kind of post-traumatic stress disorder, which occurs in people who have survived traumatic or catastrophic events where others have lost their lives. It has, among other symptoms, that of feeling guilty for being survivors.  
> The idea for this story came to me because Endgame left me with the impression of having seen very human heroes on the screen, with very human frailties (and why Ben is monstrously good despite having only one scene in the movie).
> 
> [1] Adaptation of a quote from Sherlock Holmes, because yes.  
> [2] The Bokors are voodoo sorcerers who use magic for evil purposes.


End file.
